A paradox, this day of love’s exchange,
Its past reeking of martyrdom and death,
Pagan and Christian eros in one breath
Commingling, emotions loosed to tightly range.
And in the well-worn stories, great lovers strain
To overcome their hardships, their passions thwarted,
To keep their troth from many sides distorted,
And glory in the end in their shared gain.
So we, now in rough age’s quickening sand,
Must live with absence, staunch memory’s prick,
Find solace for the urge too quickly killed,
And in this seventh decade’s bann demand
Our right to make our love’s diminished wick
Flame with new flare, its purity distilled.